


In the Hushing Dusk

by babbyspanch



Category: Enola Holmes (2020)
Genre: F/F, M/M, Post Movie, also trans mrs hudson, gay bastards, i dont know what you want from me i blinked and it was five hours later and i had written this, set like seven years in the future, this is a strange au where every dreamy impulse is just acted upon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-28
Updated: 2020-09-28
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:08:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26703460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babbyspanch/pseuds/babbyspanch
Summary: Eonla moves to London permanently and discovers herself fully. And helps the others around her on that journey as well.listen i'm just vibing okay if y'all wanna come vibe w me feel free
Relationships: Enola Holmes/OFC, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 4
Kudos: 143





	In the Hushing Dusk

**Author's Note:**

> hey i'm sorry about this one y'all

My name is Enola Holmes, and as it turns out— I’m not nearly as alone as my mother thought I would be.

In London there are hundreds upon hundreds of people, all learning and growing and striving and daring. And when you find the ones growing and daring in the same direction as you, well— everything changes a little.

Or, as it turns out— quite a lot.

When I first came to London, my lord... almost seven years ago, now— things were a little… well. Mad. Hectic. Impulsive. And that was just me and Tewky. Soon, I settled into the streets and the beating heart of London seemed to slow my own— until the patterns were one and the same. I belonged here, and she welcomed me in with open arms.

I sort of flitted from room to room, house to house as far as boarding went. I soon realized a more permanent option would benefit me. The cold sting of betrayal and anger still runs through me as I think of all the money Mycroft swiped from my shaking hands that night in the carriage— what I could have done for myself if I still had those means at my fingertips.

Luckily, the world was looking out for me— and more importantly, so was the Tewksbury family. I had enough to buy a place whenever I found one that suited.

And 221B Baker Street suited us all just fine. 

But, I’m getting ahead of myself. To start from the beginning looks vaguely as what follows:

I decided to continue my judo lessons. That’s where I met Liliana, and my entire world's shape changed— and things started to just make sense.

And then, together— we met those people I mentioned— the ones who grew in the same direction as we did. We had found the same lightsource and shot toward it, tendrils bonding us together as we grew and grew and grew.

To shoot straight about it, we met a great group of homosexuals and I found myself agreeing with every single thing they said.

They held meetings in the judo studio. Sat there cross legged in great joy-stained riot every Thursday night. Drank and dressed as they liked and spoke of the people who had come before us and with trembling hope of the ones who would come after, and what we could do for them to make things brighter. To make this little light source we had found a great big sunroom, brilliant and huge and with enough space to nurture everyone.

That was where I first met our housekeeper, Mrs. Hudson. She had been living a different life then, with a different prefix. Couldn’t rid herself of the life she had realized a touch too slowly wasn’t the one she wanted. Offering her the space at 221B had proved to her there was really no such thing as too late. The first time I brought her home a present (a walking skirt I had made in her favourite tan plaid) she scolded me for fifteen minutes with tears in her eyes, then made me fresh scones with clotted cream and insisted on brushing my hair out in front of the fire.

It was nice. My mother had died at that point, a revolutionary demonstration gone awry. I was heartbroken for months. I had imprinted on Mrs. Hudson as much as her on me. We needed each other. Helped and loved and supported in ways we never could have anticipated.

And then, of course, there was Liliana. She was there my first class back, whirling and lashing and corkscrewing— a perfect dirvish of fists. I had been in such awe of her.

I still am.

I do think I always will be.

We had been trying to sneak in some extra practise on a Thursday night and found the studio was not anywhere near as empty as we had anticipated.

One of the happiest mistakes of my entire life.

I brought Tewky to a meeting a few years in. He was so quiet during it, soft hands slow and stumbling over his own realizations. It had been a huge risk, but at the same time… No risk at all. I knew who he was, if no guarantee on what. His compassion and love would keep us sheltered. I knew that well. And I knew his power could help us build that greenhouse we wanted to share with the world.

He helps run the meetings now. Easy as breathing. His fortune aids those in need, his vote paves the way to a foundation that we can one day build on top of.

He’s still one of my dearest friends in the world. And he still lets me cut his hair— though I do tend to use scissors.

Lilianna and I found 221B together one night— deep in a case. Her riptide of intensity had saved our lives once more and we sheltered behind a fencepost— unsure if the broad stone would protect us from our pursuers, we had pressed in close together. Arm to arm. Then closer, arms around waists. Forehead to forehead. I had covered my mouth to quiet the panting of my breath— winded from our sprint. Her brown eyes glinted, not a breathless moment in her. She had reached up, brushed her dark fingers across the back of my hand. A question.

One I answered enthusiastically.

Steps thundered by, matching the thunder in my chest. When we finally drew apart they had long faded into the city and we were safe. Had been, in the shadow of this post and the property it protected. We turned as one and looked up, spotting the for sale sign in the apartment at the same moment.

We convinced Mrs. Hudson the next day. Had her sign the papers and handed her a bundle of notes the next. Moved in the day after that.

We started having more informal meetings there, less scheduled and more spontaneous.

221B was such a place of joy and safety— and would continue to be so for years and years to come. Setting up the support beams in our sunroom.

For years we lived like that. Lilianna, Mrs. Hudson and I. We solved mysteries and Mrs. Hudson would have something warm on the table for us when we got home. We built in the shadows, found others as lost as us and rented out the empty room. Less rented, and more provided space for anyone who needed it. Taking money from those so alone and confused would break Mrs. Hudson's heart.

But now, five years later, I was nearing a new chapter. Lilianna grew restless. She wanted to further our reach, set up more spots like this for people like us. Build more beams in our beautiful future. I found myself agreeing with her, as I often do. Not to mention more spots needed my mind and wit. The wonderful thing about crime is it really is everywhere. I can help wherever we go.

Mrs. Hudson wanted to remain. She spent so long rebuilding herself, her life, her joy. She has knitting clubs and the baker she talks with every day. She likes making homes for others, and would feel bad for our community— removing a spot that had so completely come to mean safety and a place to rest one’s head. With three spare rooms she felt she must man the nest, as it were.

And then, five years after we had last spoken, Sherlock had stumbled in our front door.

We had run into each other a moment, after I had glimpsed him in that square. He had given me his new information, just in case I found myself in need of him. I hadn’t.

And now here he stood, damp and hollow-eyed, zapped through with shivers so often his teeth were bound to snap and I felt sure his bones would break. He was in need of my help instead.

Mrs. Hudson had taken an immediate shine to him. Had nursed him through the messy withdrawal. Cared for him in a way I could almost remember our own mother doing, Sherlock sick and sweaty in his bed, mother pouring warm comfort along with the tea.

He had stayed in the spare room for a few weeks. His lucidity returned, though his gratitude did not. He was snappish and cruel, not the right shape for the home yet

Not to Mrs. Hudson, however. Never once to Mrs. Hudson. 

Lilianna at once took a shine to him, entertained at his rage and threats and how his total inability to act upon them contrasted. Early on, because he was weak as a kitten, and later because they both knew while he made the threats she was someone who could actually carry them out.

As the months wore away, Sherlock showed no sign of wanting to go. Mrs. Hudson was delighted by this, spoiling him absolutely rotten. I was perhaps slgihtly bitter at having to fetch my own meals more often. But often I looked on them and saw two people who had longed for family in ways they were unable to accept or receive and I felt any bitterness drain away.

As Lilianna and I grew more and more sure of our conclusion of leaving, Sherlock grew more and more petulant until I couldn’t take it any longer.

“One would think you were the one six years my junior, Sherlock! What is eating at you so fiercely that you become snappish in my very presence. I would love to enter my own kitchen without getting my head bitten off over where I have been all night—!”

“Enola, you wandering the city streets at night—“

“Is something I have done long before you came back to my life and something I’ll continue to do long after you leave it once more!”

Sherlock swallowed, something in his face. He was struck by those words. Perhaps even injured.

“Is… Is that what this is about, Sherlock? Are you leav-“

“No, you are.” He says, voice low and more hurt than I had heard.

I stood there, mouth open. Sherlock didn’t often take me aback, but this…

“I meant it when I said I cared for you, Enola. I… Would not wish you gone from here. Nor—” He cut his own words off, and his gaze darted around the dark kitchen, single candle on the table throwing light at random around the grey edges of the world. 

“You don’t want to leave this place. That’s what this really is about, isn’t it?”

Sherlock put the kettle on, darkness still cotton and soft.

It was no hardship. We both knew this place inside and out. How many paces to the cutlery drawer. Where Mrs. Hudson had stashed that weeks’ sweetbuns. Where to exactly step to make the least noise. 221B was known as intimately as any childhood home. Nay, even better. We spent time  _ together _ here. More than we ever had in our old house.

“It’s both.” His voice was quiet, dark and soft as the night around them.

I sat at the table and sighed. Rubbed my temples in a way Sherlock increasingly drew out of me.

I waited for him to finish fiddling with the tea. He came back and sat down. He had only made a cup for himself. I snorted and stood, grabbed a mug for myself. There had been just enough water in the kettle for two. I smacked the back of his head on the way back to my seat and kicked my feet up on the table.

“Oh big brother.” I took a sip. It hadn’t steeped enough, but I needed a moment to think. To weigh my options. With Tewky, it hadn't been easy but… I had known he wouldn’t betray us. With Sherlock… The way he hadn’t stopped Mycroft when I was a girl… It still stung— even now. We had both changed, grown andu shifted but… That still coloured how I saw him.

I continued to sip, and gave myself the space to think. I wished Lilianna wasn’t out. She had gone to the country for a week, to say goodbye to her cousins. That had probably been the final straw for Sherlock. Neither of us had said where she was going, or why but… Sherlock didn’t ever need things spelled out for him.

Oh. Huh. He really didn’t.

“You know what I am already— don’t you?”

Sherlock took a sip of tea. The candle flame between us flickered. He said nothing.

“Well. Lilianna and I… we… We help people like us. 221B is… It's a place for them too. That can’t change. Mrs. Hudson wont let it.”

Sherlock's eyes flick up, rest on mine intently. We didn’t tend to make eye contact. We had become clever at pretending with other people— looking between their nose or at a point on their eyebrow or cheek. But we didn’t tend to pretend with each other. Both comfortable knowing what the other was comfortable with.

Now though… I met his gaze unflinching. Something burned there, and it wasn’t the reflection of the candle. Something in him was alight.

“Mrs. Hudson is staying here. She wants to keep helping people in need. Who are in their inbetween. It’s important to her, and you must never impede on that.”

The light blazed brighter.

“You can also never make this place unsafe for anyone here. No cops, Sherlock. Absolutely not Lestrade. You must choose your company carefully. Invite only those you are sure wont bare ill-will.”

I blinked, broke our eye contact a moment— realizing I had brought Sherlock in without a second thought. Judged him in my gut as safe. My eyes flicked back up.

“Protect them, Sherlock. And you can likley stay.”

Something broke over his face. A wild relief and joy that made him look half crazed— his face so unused to holding that kind of vibrancy.

It spilled into me and I grinned back.

“Just ensure Mrs. Hudson is okay with it. And pay her rent— I don’t care what she tells you about it. You owe her. Tell her it’s payment for her housekeeping and cooking— that may be the only way you can convince her to keep it.”

Sherlock nodded, too fast. He continued to feel younger than me. We finished our tea in silence.

***

I came back to visit him often, Lilianna at my side, grinning all the while. We told him of our trips and adventures and plans we had laid. He shared his own in return,

One day I returned and there was a new man there. At first I thought Sherlock had bonded with one of the inbetweens Mrs. Hudson had taken in. It wasn’t an unreasonable guess. The man as a doctor— back from the army holding his trauma and his limp as close to his chest as he could. He was someone who needed a home and a place to put down those things he kept clenched too close. Who knew how many there were.

Slowly it became clear Sherlock himself had found the man, invited him back after speaking with him for hardly an hour.

I trusted Sherlock, and his reasoning even more so. But it scared me. He seemed to notice this, and arranged for mre meetings between the four of us to soothe my fears.

Lilianna took a quick liking to Watson, as well— dampened only by his involvement in the war. She was endlessly tickled when he found out about her fighting ability and said something about how ironic it was that he healed and she hurt— but they got along as well as they did.

“Well you must have made friends in the army who did quite a lot of hurting themselves, Doctor. Perhaps even found joy in it.”

“Not particularly.” Watson said, eyes speaking volumes, “We tended to avoid each other.”

They became fast friends after that. Often making tea plans that excluded Sherlock and I.

Sherlock was very bitter about it. I was less so, surety growing that Sherlocks gut instinct to bring Watson to 221B was more correct than even he realized.

A few months proceeded like this; Lillianna and I romping all over the globe, Sherlock and Watson all over London, and then meeting up again to gorge on Mrs. Hudson's sandwiches to share our tales and bring her back rich treasures we found.

It was wonderful. Really, entirely wonderful.

One day, Lilianna and I returned to 221B from one of our further flung trips, laden with gifts and stories. A new tea to try, a new book and specifications of mushroom growth that would bring no end of joy to Sherlock, a new carefully woven scarf for Mrs. Hudson. Lilianna had insisted on a rather terrifying looking rusting chunk of medical history that she was sure Watson would love.

Only we arrived, and Watson was no longer there.

Sherlock was, however. And he had turned violent and vicious with his words as soon as we stepped in the door— cruel in ways he never had been before. Lilianna didn’t lash out—- just gathered her gifts and walked out the door. I chased her down, found her a safe spot where we cried together a while— she was shocked to hear such things from him and I had never so badly wanted Sherlock to hurt.

We held each other and let our feelings flow, nursed them with the tea meant for four. It had grown dark by the time Lilianna had her feet under her again. I told her I’d send Mrs. Hudson back for a night of catching up, but that I had to go check in on Sherlock.

She scrubbed at her eyes, mouth a tight line. She didn’t want me to go. Given her own history with all her family but her cousins, I couldn’t blame her for her hesitation. But I explained loosely that… I didn’t think that was what was happening.

Not this time.

She agreed but made me promise to not hesitate in striking him if need be, I agreed, laughing with her. I pressed her hand, kissed her lips and made absolutely sure she was safe before I left to give my brother a solid talking to.

When I arrived he was curled in a chair. Face buried in his hands, not a candle lit anywhere. He’d been sitting there since before there had been a need for light.

I sighed and sat in his usual chair after lighting a few around the room. He was sitting in Watsons.

“You hurt Lilianna tremendously.” I informed him, brittle.

Sherlock sighed, not put-upon by others feelings, but genuinely forlorn.

I waited.

“I am sorry for that. I’ll…if she wants to hear it, I’ll apologize. Whenever she… If she wants to hear it from me.”

I considered him, small in the chair. I remembered how large he had looked to me at sixteen, shoulders broad and sure of his spot in the world. Confident in his smarts and his security provided by being a white man with money in a world which handsomely rewarded that.

Now he was doubting himself. His safety. I had no idea what to try and get him talking about first.

“Those things you said Sherlock… They were hateful.”

He nodded and lifted his head. “I apologize to you too, Enola. I… It must have hurt you both to hear me say those things. I didnt… I didn’t mean them. Which almost makes the fact I was able to say them worse.”

I nodded and fiddled with the hem of my skirt. I looked up into his eyes. “Sherlock… where is Watson.”

Watching Sherlock’s eyes fill with tears was not something I had experienced before. The gleam of water that grew heavier and heavier, swelled against gravity. Gathered and spilled over, drop after drop rolling down his face.

“Oh, Sherlock.” My words are soft. 

He shook his head. “It’s no excuse. I’ll make it up to the two of you anyway I can.”

“Just tell me what happened.”

“He’s engaged.”

“What…  _ really _ ?” I couldn’t keep the shock from my voice. The disbelief. “Was he… Had he been cheating on you? Seeing a woman behind your back or—?”

“What?” Sherlock asked, gobsmacked and sniffling. 

I blinked. “I only mean… Had you agreed to monogamy and he went back on his word or…?”

“We— I— he and I were not—“ More tears.

“Oh. Oh,  _ Sherlock _ . Whyever not?”

Sherlock gestured helplessly. “I didn’t realize I… not until the moment he left and—“

I stood and held him. My stupid big brother.

“You can be quite stupid, you know.” Sherlock managed a laugh. It was a struggle, but he managed it.

“Did you tell him?” Sherlock shook his head and straightened with a deep breath.

“It was too late.” 

“What’s her name?” I asked, cautious.

“Mary. Mary Morstan.”

The laugh burst out of me, joy for my brother real. “Oh Sherlock. You never went to a single one of the Thursday meetings— did you? It’s not too late at all.”

We stayed up that night, strategizing together on what exactly Sherlock would say, along with how he would apologize to Lilianna. I warned him on the timing, suggesting he wait a few days before seeking her out— rather opposite to Watson, who he would go to first thing in the morning.

As I suspected, Sherlock really had never been to a single meeting— too dismissive and nervous in equal parts. Mary Morstan had been a member longer than I had— joyful and open about her love of women. There were many members of the club who had interest in both or neither, but she wasn’t one of them. She was, however, interested in real estate, and the developing thereof. Her father had just died, and now she had no convincing man’s signature to purchase plots with. A husband would fix that, any would do. But one from the club would do quite nicely. 

Sherlock got confirmation of this the next day when he spoke to Watson, halting and with notes spilling from his pockets. Sherlock later re-accounted he had hardly made it through his first page before Watson was kissing him silent. 

He gave a sincere apology to Lilianna, who accepted with a few conditions. He’d never say such words again, about himself or others, and that he made a donation to the clubs fund.

It turned out he had already been doing so monthly, but he upped his contribution all the same. 

Mrs. Hudson was overjoyed with the whole ordeal, hearing only the good parts from all parties involved. She shone with pride as Sherlock and Watson linked hands at her kitchen table. She also asked a pointed question about Watsons room and if he was intending on keeping it bare and if, perhaps, they could open up that one to people in need as well.

Sherlock was shocked at how quickly Watson agreed. The man's moustache twitched and he pressed a fleeting kiss to my brothers knuckles. I had never seen Sherlock blush quite that badly, and haven’t since.

And so life was able to return back to its rhythm. That warm heartbeat of London town, and the people she welcomes into her arms. 

My name is Enola Holmes, and we have made quite the family here.


End file.
